


the rushing sea

by downamongthedeadmen



Series: young vanguards [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Area Goth Tries to Woo Area Jock, Crimson Days, Crucible Mechanics, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prophetic Dreams, Results Mixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downamongthedeadmen/pseuds/downamongthedeadmen
Summary: "You participated in Crimson Doubles?" Ikora asks, astonished.





	1. the present

It's rare to have a day to herself, let alone three, but Ikora's not complaining. She plans to make good use of the tens of thousands of PTO hours she's racked up since she took the post. Her Vanguard comm remains open out of habit, though Zavala assured her that he will not disturb her vacation unless it is an emergency. Cayde promised to disturb her often, which evens things out, she supposes.

Once her ship lands at the Lighthouse, Ikora unbuckles the safety harness and gracefully leaps from the exit, dust kicking up a cloud when her boots touch the ground. She shields her eyes against the Mercury sky and contemplates paying a visit to the Followers, but she's of little patience today. So long as they're safe and have sufficient supplies, she's not concerned with what they're up to. Most of the time.

Ikora ignores the Vex Goblins stationed like gargoyles at the entrance of the amphitheater and winds around the structure, making her way toward the Infinite Forest's gate. It amuses her that Osiris resides so close to the Lighthouse while his biggest fan has yet to make it to his refuge. To be fair her old mentor rarely shows up on the planet proper, and Vex and Cabal frequently patrol the area, but when one is so fervent as Brother Vance...

No, she's not going to worry about Vance today. Crimson Days are better spent thinking of those you care about.

She hails a nosy Centurion with a shotgun blast to the face and descends the crypt where Osiris has taken refuge. The smoking remains of some three dozen Vex indicate that he's actually here for once. "Would it kill him to stay at the Lighthouse where it's safer?" her Ghost grumbles, scanning a Harpy's corpse out of suspicion.

Ikora smirks as she nudges a metal arm out of the way with her foot. "Yes, it would, and you know that." 

He floats to her outstretched hand and nestles in her palm, unimpressed. His singular eye rolls to the ceiling. "I suppose it is fitting that we go through so much trouble to see one man. He's always been so dramatic."

"Of course he is," exclaims a new voice. Sagira materializes in front of them, shimmering in the brazier light. "All Warlocks are dramatic. It's why you're so fun to rile up." 

"Sagira," Ikora greets, smiling as she inclines her head for a gentle headbutt. Sagira bumps against her affectionately. "Hey, you two. Long no time see. Osiris has tea ready." 

Ikora's Ghost _hmm_ s and melds back into her armor without further comment. Ikora climbs the stairs to Osiris's room, which is just a personal library carved out of the haunted Mercury crust. Books, planetary models, miniature statues, and odd devices without an obvious use litter the floor. There's a small cot in the corner where Osiris sleeps, but aside from that there's little indication that a human lives here. And judging by the ever-darkening bags under his eyes, there's less of an indication that Osiris sleeps at all.

He's sitting cross-legged on a rug where he's set out a tray of tea and food in anticipation for Ikora's monthly visit. His weathered face brightens when she steps out of the shadows, and he gets to his feet. Despite his age his eyes are sharp as ever, though when it comes to Ikora they're usually a bit softer. "Hello, Ikora."

She throws her arms around his neck in a warm hug. He's still coming around to the concept of physical affection, but it no longer takes him an absurd amount of time to pat her back. "How are you?" Ikora inquires once she pulls away, inspecting him closer.

Osiris turns as though he's self-conscious. "Same as ever," he replies tiredly. "Busy." 

He sounds happy about it, which is good. Ikora privately wishes he'd do something about that beard, though; Sagira doesn't call it a "Depression Beard" for laughs. "Vance still harassing you?" says Ikora.

He looks at her with big, stupid eyes: the classic Dreg-in-the-headlights stare. It's an alarming expression on him, and it'd make her laugh no matter the context. "Who?"

She covers her mouth quickly to stifle a rude snort. "That's mean, even from you."

"Hmph!" Osiris settles back onto the floor and folds his legs underneath him, gesturing for Ikora to sit as well. "I used to tolerate him the way one tolerates a rock in their shoe, until your Guardian informed me that he complained about you. Some nonsense about you ignoring your job and foisting it on others." 

Ikora chooses a sticky piece of jalebi with a snort. As she stirs her tea, she says, "Sadly not an uncommon complaint. I wish I could be in multiple places in once, but I don't have reality bending technology at my disposal. Like some people." Osiris chuckles softly. "Where did you get these, by the way?" she asks, indicating the fried dough treats.

Osiris closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. "The Followers occasionally leave... _offerings_ for me," he replies through clenched teeth.

Traveler take her. Ikora's about to laugh and spill the scalding tea all over herself. "Are you serious?" 

"Unfortunately." He takes a fortified gulp of tea like he's hoping to wash down the bitter taste in his mouth left from mentioning the cult. "I'm not one to turn away supplies, especially in a desert wasteland. And I --" He looks a bit... wounded. Like his very thoughts bring him agony. "Well, the one thing I miss from the Tower is the Bazaar."

Ikora remembers. When she was young and tugging at Osiris's sleeve to point excitedly at sights around the City, he would sometimes bring them to a tea garden when she was done with her studies. Their favorite one was run by a kind Turkish couple. The Kays. They'd give her an extra piece of basbousa and ask how she was doing. It is one of the fondest memories she has, and one of the few untainted by the banishing of her mentor and all the grief and anger that followed for decades. 

Even now that they're older and changed in ways they're still discovering, Ikora cannot help but feel, for just a moment, that she's still an apprentice following his heels and getting into trouble. Sometimes alone, sometimes alongside him. "I'll send you more once I'm back in the City," she promises.

The hopeful look on Osiris's face when she mentions the food gives him away even as he shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I would rather have information on the Vex's activity on other planets."

"You can't tell me what to do any more, old man," she points out, grinning. 

He covers his eyes with one hand as Sagira snickers, lips twitching under his beard. Osiris remarks, "You are as insolent as ever, Ikora."

"Indeed! I learned from the best." She toasts the air, and he actually _laughs_. It is very heartening to hear.

They spend a couple of hours simply catching up. A lot happens in a month, and Ikora listens carefully to Osiris's news from the Forest. It is disturbing to hear that after eighty years of work, he is only scratching the surface of the amount of simulated futures. He remains confident that as long as he has help from the City's Guardians and Ikora's Hidden, the Vex will be stopped. It's only a matter of when, and how.

Ikora is happy to brag about her Guardians and the good work they've done since the City was rebuilt. She also presents him with the first volume of her series, _On Circles_. He takes it with great interest. Osiris has a faint smile the entire time she speaks, pleased that her confidence is restored in herself after what happened to her on Io. He nods when she discusses Zavala's leadership skills, but scoffs any time Cayde is mentioned. "Were you and Zavala that desperate for a replacement to Andal?"

"Cayde has improved in the past few months, Osiris. Years ago he was far more dutiful, and then around the time the City fell he became cocky and lax. He's gotten better as of late, but Zavala recently issued a restraining order against him after an incident with some signal flares." 

Osiris mutters something under his breath. "What was that?" Ikora asks, grinning. "Did you just say 'back in my day'?"

"What are your plans for the week?" Osiris clears his throat and leans over to refill her tea cup. Truthfully, Ikora has not planned her vacation outside of "sleeping," "eating," "dancing," and "reading". She spends so much time scheduling every other moment of her life that for now, she's content to relax and let things unfold. The one event she's looking forward to is slated for tomorrow. 

"One of my Hidden and I are visiting the Crucible tomorrow for Doubles," she replies, smiling. "Chalco has been haranguing me about it for months."

Sagira sighs wistfully from her spot in the sugar bowl. "Remember when you did Doubles, Osiris?" she asks, pointing a lazy wing at him. "And then for weeks and weeks recruits would ask Shaxx if you were going back any time soon because they were scared?"

"You participated in Crimson Doubles?" Ikora asks, astonished. In all her years of knowing Osiris, the only thing she recalls him saying about Crimson Days is how irritating it is to have a conversation with someone in the plaza while you're assaulted by a never-ending torrent of petals.

"You'll remember I always endorsed the Crucible." Osiris shrugs. "I entered it once during Crimson Days. It was interesting." 

There is no way Ikora is going to let him leave it at that. She leans forward. Osiris, seeing the inevitable, exhales. "If I may be honest, I can't see you partnering up with someone for an extended amount of time," she admits. "Even in the Crucible."

"Oh, trust me, there was a lot of complaining," Sagira cuts in. The diamonds around her body rotate in glee. "From both parties." 

Osiris watches in dismay as Ikora makes a show of getting comfortable on his cot to listen. She has to move several stacks of books and what appears to be a Hobgoblin's cranium out of the way. "When was this?"

Sagira considers. "It was, hmm... Way before we met you. 150 years ago? 170? He had hair back then, I know that."

"Sagira prefers to use my hair as a unit of time," says Osiris, dryly. 

Sagira twirls into the air, her iris glowing and scrolling with data as she scans through her files. "He was _so_ pretty, Ikora! Look!"

She projects a photograph of an Osiris with chin-length black hair and small streaks of grey at his temples. If she has to guess, Ikora thinks he physically looks to be in his forties. The grey hair ages him considerably, but his face is relatively young. He's got an eye closed and his cheek squished against an Exo's. Said Exo has him in a tight embrace, the pair of them laughing at each other, eyes locked, oblivious to Sagira's camera and the petals raining down on them. "This is after their last match. You can practically hearing Shaxx yelling in the back."

Osiris doesn't look at the picture. He's quietly studying the rug beneath him, and Ikora feels her heart ache at the faraway look in his eyes. Even without the iconic helmet she recognizes the Exo with him. How could you not? It was the best-known rumor that Saint-14 had been in love with Osiris from the moment they'd met.

She knows better than to reach out and take Osiris's hand no matter how much she wants to. It hurts, though; when you've cared about someone for so long, their grief brings you grief. Instead, Ikora teases lightly, "You've always been striking, Osiris. Especially back then. Remember the compliments you'd get when your back was turned? I bet you broke many hearts." 

The insinuation makes Osiris roll his eyes and frees him from his reverie. He fiddles with a piece of jalebi, breaking it apart into little sticks and swirling one in his tea. "More like one heart, many times. If you have the time to listen --"

Ikora interrupts, "The longer I am here the more annoyed Vance becomes, so please, do not hold anything back."

Osiris looks at her for a moment. He then smiles hesitantly. _He'll be okay_ , Ikora thinks. _I'll make sure of it_. Sagira floats over to perch on her Guardian's knee, gazing up at him with an expectant yet gentle eye. "Very well. Many years ago..."


	2. the past

Osiris tolerates Lord Shaxx most of the time, which is more than he could say for many of the Tower's occupants. Shaxx's dislike for the megalomaniac Speaker and his enthusiasm for sharpening Guardian bodies into fine weapons -- these are the qualities that elevate him in Osiris's eyes.

During Crimson Days, though, Osiris would love nothing more than to kick him off the Tower.

"Commander Osiris!" Shaxx booms from fifty yards across, causing several recruits to nearly jump out of their armor. He waves excitedly at Osiris who is trying to fold himself into a corner by the Postmaster and vanish from sight. "Will you come show these pups what a _real_ Warlock does in a fight?"

"Perhaps another time," Osiris mutters, too quiet for a normal person to hear. Shaxx, who is neither normal nor undeterred, intercepts another Guardian and drags them over as a sacrifice to the Crucible.

Osiris's fellow Vanguard, Saint-14, is just as enthusiastic for Crimson Days as Shaxx, though he shows it in more subtle ways: handing out flowers to those he cares for.

Earlier this morning the Speaker gingerly placed a bouquet of tulips onto his desk, going on and on and _on_ about how _most_ of the Vanguard are upstanding, incredible individuals who know a thing or two about respect. Osiris almost set the plants on fire, and had to remind himself the flowers didn't deserve it.

Lord Saladin accepts Saint's gift of poppies with a light smile, the frown lines around his face softening for just a moment.

Shaxx is momentarily stunned into silence at receiving sunflowers. To say he is flabbergasted is an understatement. He looks behind him at Arcite 99-40 who tuts and recommends that he put them in a vase, Lord Shaxx, yes, you must make sure they have clean water, we don't want them to wilt now, do we? 

Saladin's youngest pupil, Zavala, does a double take and blushes a little when he is offered daisies. Zavala attempts to pass it off as a loud cough before vanishing around the corner to speak to Shaxx, who is intently listening to Arcite's gardening advice and nodding every now and then.

Tess Everis gasps with delight when she sees a small, delicate vase of gardenias at her counter. She literally glows with joy; fluorescent freckles pop out against her blue skin, a common trait among Awoken and the reason why Zavala burns like a torch behind his glove. Osiris has long theorized that the debris field the Awoken call home is dubbed the Reef as its occupants are capable of bio-luminescence, like many ocean dwellers.

Not to be left out, Saint's Ghost, Joan, has a beautiful hand-painted shell adorned with lilies. She excitedly shows it off to other Ghosts that float her way regardless if she knows them or not. Among her fellows that are decked out with the traditional roses, Joan certainly stands out. 

Even the Postmaster receives a handsome bouquet of irises, and is so moved they immediately place it by the register so they can look at it every time someone stops by to pick up a package. They beam when customers comment on the flowers.

Saint humbly declines promises of repayment and insists he only wants his recipients to know they are important to him. Every single one of Saint's loved ones and acquaintances receive a gift -- except Osiris. Who isn't bothered at all.

He isn't, honest. In fact, he had to convince Saint _multiple times_ last year that he doesn't want anything. And Saint, to his credit, ultimately respected Osiris's wishes.

_"I thought you liked roses."_

_"In my food," Osiris corrected. Rose water is excellent for flavoring. The rose plant itself, on the other hand, has an overwhelming aroma that gives him migraines. He hates this holiday solely because it forces him to walk around the Tower for a week with his sleeve pressed over his nose to avoid gagging._

_"So you would not like dessert instead?" Saint asked, thinking of sweets drizzled with honey and coated in crushed almonds. For such a sour person, Sagira jokes, Osiris enjoys sugar to a worrying degree._

_"No, Saint," said Osiris, patiently. "Thank you. You needn't worry about me."_

Saint pays him a visit when he's in his office that evening and warmly greets him. He crosses the room and leans on Osiris's desk -- the only person in the world allowed the privilege to do so. They chat about Vanguard business, about Tallulah Fairwind's antics, and the excitement shining in every young Guardian's eyes for the week ahead. Then Saint bows his head slightly and sees himself out, stating he doesn't want to interrupt Osiris's work, and wishes the man an excellent evening. Osiris offers him a rare smile that isn't forced, causing Saint to stop for a bit and stare. He barely avoids banging his cranium on the door frame in his haste to make a timely retreat. Osiris, who by then resumed flipping through the stack of files on his desk, doesn't notice. He allows himself to frown pensively when he's sure that Saint is gone.

"Someone's jealous," Sagira sings. From the corner of his eye, Osiris sees her creep around the back of his chair, her floating diamonds zeroing in on him like a target. 

Ah. He wondered when she was going to start with this nonsense. Sighing, Osiris pulls a bottle of pills from the left drawer and shakes two of them into his hand. He pops them in his mouth, downing them with water and making a face at the bitter aftertaste. This immediately dampens Sagira's good mood, as she hates his recent dependency on sleeping pills. She complains that when he's knocked out so deeply she can't reach him through their synthoneural link, and it frightens her. Osiris, seeing her diamonds droop like a dog's ears when chastised, decides to humor her. "And what is it I'm jealous of, little one?"

She brightens, digital iris flickering back to its usual intensity. Sometimes Osiris plays along with her teasing, and sometimes he just waits for her to grow bored and switch to a new topic. "The cleaning Frames get presents from Saint-14, but not the Vanguard Commander? His boss? His oldest friend?" She spins on her axis, her tone conspiratorial. "I saw that look on your face when Tess hugged him, you know."

"The sun was in my eyes," he replies, exasperated. _Was is that obvious?_ He clears his throat. "And she was entirely too bright, as well." 

" _Of course_ , Commander." Sagira only uses his title when she wants to annoy him. It's working fantastically. "Did you give Saint anything?"

Osiris glares at his Ghost. She knows full well he doesn't participate in this inane holiday. "No." 

Sagira glances at him with something close to pity. And if there's one thing Osiris hates above all else, it's unwarranted sympathy. "Explains why he was sad earlier," she murmurs, floating to the window to gaze outside at the evening sky. 

Osiris's hand halts its dutiful scribbling. He's transcribing reports from a scout he sent out the previous afternoon, but he stops to squint at Sagira. Winning an argument before it's begun is a pastime of his. "I know what you're doing, little light," says Osiris calmly, pointing his pen at her. "And I don't care for it."

"Oh?" she asks innocently, swirling around to face him, eye narrowed. "So you're fine with what the Speaker said to him?"

"I don't care for that fool's speeches unless they are about the welfare of the City, or the state of my work. And _then_ I filter what he has to say."

"Ah, but I bet you'll care about this speech." With that smug promise, Sagira begins to play an audio recording. 

_-My son, I've been flooded with compliments from all sectors of the City regarding your kindness today._

_-I am happy to see you pleased, Father. But today is the only first day of the festivities. I have much to do this week._

_-Indeed, you must be keeping the City's florists busy!_

_-Hah! Actually, I grew the ones I gave out today._

Osiris mumbles _of course he did_ under his breath, and Sagira shushes him. She skips forward a few minutes until she arrives at the section she wants. "Listen, Osiris."

_-...from Osiris?_

_-Oh -- no, but that's alright. He isn't one for holidays._

_-I am not surprised that a man so full of himself cannot put aside his pettiness to celebrate a single day of love and affection for his fellow Guardians._

__

__

_-Father, that's not fair. Osiris cares deeply for us. He --_

_-Has he ever thanked you for anything you've done, Saint? One of these days his rotten personality will catch up to him._

"Incredible," says Osiris. "To think I gave him credit for having more maturity than a six year old child. He manages to surprise me every day."

"Keep interrupting me and I'll delete this," Sagira threatens. Osiris shuts his mouth.

_-A man's actions speak louder than words, Father. The two of us are close. A smile of his is worth ten compliments._

Sagira's iris rolls to the side to look meaningfully at Osiris, who is shielding his own eyes with one hand and burning holes into the desk. He is not blushing. He over three hundred years old, for fuck's sake.

There is a long pause in the audio where Osiris believes the Speaker paces back and forth, agitated. Then, he sighs quietly.

_-I'm sorry, son. I know I complain to you about Osiris constantly._

 _Yes, you do_ , Osiris thinks. _And most of your troubles with me are caused by your own ineptitude_.

_-I know, Father._ [beat] _Sometimes I wish I could be more forthcoming about my own thoughts. I do appreciate your honesty._

_-Just one last thing. A warning, from your old man: Don't put your time and effort into someone who has no intention to do the same for you_

[Several beats]

_-It's alright. I am content to love him and do not need it reciprocated. Now, what did --_

The recording ends and Sagira's iris clicks off for a moment. When she activates it again, she sees Osiris gaping at her like he's been shot through the heart. His eyes are wide and full of horror, lips are parted as if to cry out against some fiendish accusation, a hand outstretched toward her like he thought plucking her out of the air would soften the hurt in Saint's voice. 

"I take it back," Sagira mutters, and now she really sounds pitying. "Someone's not jealous. Someone... is _guilty_."

  


* * *

  


Shaxx is beside himself with glee because not one, but _two_ Vanguards present themselves to him at noon the next day. Saint is perplexed. Osiris is... he feels nothing, really. Maybe resentment. Maybe indigestion. Maybe vertigo from watching Shaxx bounce on his pile of rose petals. "A momentous day indeed!" he shouts, fist clenched in passion. "Our finest Warlock and Titan, fighting side by side!"

"Osiris, if I'd known you wanted to fight in Crimson Doubles," Saint begins, but Osiris elbows him. Not his smartest decision; Saint is fully armored and now his elbow stings like a son of a bitch. "Let us in, Shaxx," says Osiris, rubbing his arm.

"Just a moment. I know Saint is well versed in the rules of Crimson Doubles, but you've never taken a partner before, Osiris."

The wording, while not intentionally suggestive, makes Osiris arch a brow. Sagira is cracking up in his brain. "Of course."

Shaxx nods, fists on his hips and helmet cocked to the side. "I have created two new modifiers for this year's matches," he explains. "To maintain an element of surprise, all four of you will be equipped with radar jammers. If you wander too far from your partner, your jammer will deactivate and your opponents will be able to track your exact location. You must then rejoin your partner immediately, or risk death."

The Crucible's Handler has always been big on teamwork. For some Guardians, the only way they'll learn the value of leaning on others is by threatening them with bodily harm. Consider Osiris interested. "Go on," he says.

Shaxx leans forward into Osiris's personal space, and he chuckles low and dark. Now, Osiris is rarely affected by another person's features, especially when said person is clad in armor and annoyingly loud at every hour of the day. Yet even he cannot deny that Lord Shaxx has a powerful voice that inspires Guardians young and old, and sends shivers of varying emotions down their backs. He stands his ground and coolly looks Shaxx square in the one-way face plate. "The second modifier is what I'm proudest of: A biosynthetic virus Arcite dubbed 'Vengeance'. It will bypass your shields, fuse with your armor, and attack your nervous system upon your partner's death. Until their Ghost fully revives them, you will be infected with a program that boosts your combat abilities. For a cost, that is."

Osiris isn't surprised; if there's no caveat in place, then combatants will ignore their teammate and seek glory for themselves. In fact, Osiris knows several of his own students who would sacrifice their teammates to activate Vengeance. "And that cost is...?"

"Heartbreak." He allows Shaxx to jab him in the sternum with a finger. "You will be seized with grief so strong that it will seem like death has come for you, too. It will not incapacitate you, but --"

Sagira squawks, "Isn't that cruel?"

"I will never put Guardians in any real danger," Shaxx replies seriously. He sounds almost hurt that Sagira would think that of him. "This aspect of Vengeance is purely psychological. It's meant to inspire you to protect your partner at all costs." 

"Impressive," Osiris finishes, causing Sagira to sputter and swing back around. "Sagira, there are some harsh truths in this world that are best explained through pain. Or the illusion of pain, in this instance."

"That's nice, but --"

"You're a complete bastard most of the time, Osiris -- by which I mean always, but you have my respect," Shaxx laughs, shaking his head. "A warrior after my own heart!"

Osiris huffs a quiet laugh of his own, but is distracted when he notices sudden movement at the edge of his periphery. 

During Shaxx's explanation of Crimson Doubles mechanics, Saint had meandered over to Arcite to inquire about the Frame's day and watch a match with him on his screen. Then for some reason he'd jerked his head up to stare incredulously at the back of Shaxx's helmet. When Osiris was young and ignorant he believed that Exos were incapable of emoting with their faces, but he's since learned that isn't true. In fact, if one spends a lot of time with an Exo, they'll pick up on the nuances of tiny shifts in their facial plates -- the raising of an orbital to mimic a brow arching, the twitching of zygomatic plates that allow a smile. Right now, Saint's face is a frozen mask of terror; not terror for himself, but terror for whomever stands in his way. His amethyst eyes are narrowed, gleaming menacingly in dark sockets like twin Void grenades ready to detonate. Slowly, his hand raises inch by inch into the air, as if to grip Shaxx's shoulder, yank him around, and sock him in the armored jaw. Or perhaps his hand will drift higher and higher until it can tear one of Shaxx's horns off --

Joan immediately begins waving her panels in a panic. "Saint!" she cries. "Look! Tess has that scented shell polish I really like. I think it's on sale. Can we get a bottle of it, please?"

Shaxx follows Osiris's bewildered gaze and spots Saint's hand still twitching at neck-height behind him. He takes it and gives Saint an enthusiastic handshake. "Go on, my friend. We'll wait here for you."

Saint's right iris flickers. A twitch. "Of course, Lord Shaxx." Twitch. He squeezes Shaxx's hand in return. Twitch. "We will be right back." Twitch. Twitch.

"Has the strength of ten men, that one!" Shaxx declares to Osiris once Joan and Saint vanish into the crowd. "Amazing! He could have easily broken all the bones in my arm. You are in good company, Commander."

"Indeed," Osiris returns, faintly. 

Sagira lets a full fifteen seconds elapse before tapping into their private neural link to say, _Joan just saved that man's life._

____

They take Saint's ship to the arena. Osiris sits cross legged on the floor in the cabin and quietly checks his weapons, while Saint chats with Joan in the cockpit. Sagira brushes against Osiris's cheek, practically buzzing with excitement; they haven't been to the Crucible in years. "You sure you won't be too hungry to fight?" she asks. 

"I'll be alright," he answers. He has the tendency to feel sick in the morning after a night of medicated sleep, unable to eat well into the afternoon. "By the time we leave, it'll be dinner."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk to -- I dunno, the Thanatonauts?" Sagira lowers her voice. "About your dreams?"

Those Warlocks that think they'll gain insight into the world by killing themselves? No, thank you. He'd rather listen to Executor Hideo for an hour. "They are nightmares brought on from work anxiety, Sagira. Nothing more," he insists. Osiris has no desire to discuss this within the same space as Saint and Joan. The last thing he needs is it getting to the Speaker that Osiris has been having... strange revelations about the future.

Sagira's iris dims, troubled. "Okay." Osiris leans over to give her a little peck on the top of her shell, and she perks up a bit. Her diamonds rotate slowly around her central body from restlessness. "So, hey. You nervous about fighting?"

Osiris smirks. "Not at all." 

It's not overconfidence, but simple fact. There's a good reason he never visits the Crucible any more: It's unfair to pit him against others.

  


* * *

  


To civilians, the Crucible just sounds like an excuse for power-hungry immortals to whet their thirst for blood. And to some Guardians, that's exactly what it does for them. Osiris, though, he's of the opinion that without the Crucible, Guardians would get too cocky and die _en masse_ in the next war. The tragedy on the Moon will not be repeated, not while Osiris is Commander.

They land in the EDZ, and their first opponents are a Titan-Hunter duo. Sagira's information on his HUD has Osiris wary of the Titan in particular -- she's a Striker, and her partner, well. He's inconsequential.

The couple bump their helmets together in an imitation of a kiss, which makes Sagira coo and Osiris scoff at the unnecessary display of affection. "That's bad luck, you know," he tells Saint, once Shaxx unleashes them in the arena. 

Saint's comm answers with a bout of static. He sounds doubtful. "Is it, now."

His frostiness from earlier has mostly cooled off, though dejection has taken its place. Hopefully when they start scoring kills, he'll cheer up. Osiris murmurs to him, "Yes." 

As the Hunter rounds the corner with his hand cannon, Osiris punches him in the chest, drops down to kick his leg out from under him, and follows it with a burst of fire from his sidearm. The Hunter is dead before he knows what the hell just happened, and Shaxx awards them a point. "Hunters don't need their egos stroked. They're inflated enough as it is." 

They hunt the Titan together, though she's cleverer than her partner and stays well out of range. She manages to kill Osiris with a well-thrown grenade and a fist between the eyes, but Saint avenges him a second later. The first round is theirs. 

The Vanguard pair make quick work of the next round, but in round three, their opponents wise up. The Hunter kills Saint twice in a row, and Osiris is acquainted with Vengeance at last. His breathing becomes shorter and his hands tremble as he slams a fresh clip into the rifle's magazine. There's this horrible, aching pain in his chest, like he's been run through with his own sword and left to die. Flashes of Saint's death at the hands of the Hunter pierce his mind, practically beating him over with the memory of his failure to protect him. Why didn't he put down a damn Rift to heal him? He knew the Hunter was coming, and he expected Saint to handle him alone, but why didn't he _try_? What's the matter with him?

 _Hey_ , Sagira pipes up worriedly. Gentle, intangible fingers rub against his temples. _You're fine, you're okay. You made a mistake, but those happen._

Vengeance tells him, _You let it happen._

When that Hunter comes around again, the Titan having split off to intercept Saint the moment he revives, Osiris strikes like a viper and seizes the Hunter's wrist, forcing him to drop his gun. His opponent struggles in his grasp, bringing his other arm up to stab Osiris with his knife. With inhuman reflexes Osiris twists the Hunter's arm, hard, until he yells and misses Osiris by a couple of inches. He's pinned to the wall by a boot to the chest and a gun in his face, but he's not out yet -- he primes a grenade in his hand and threatens to take Osiris with him. Saint sprints into the room, the Titan hot on his heels, and only by sheer luck does he get a barricade up in time to halt her progression, allowing him to rush to Osiris's side for backup. The Titan glances between the Hunter and the Vanguard duo, torn between injuring herself or saving her partner. So like any true Titan, she chooses both. 

She murders both Osiris and Saint with her lightning-infused fists, throwing Osiris into a rusted boiler and Saint up and over the edge of the factory's cat walk. He lands flat on his back in a ravine. The last thing either of them see is a tall, broad woman suspended a meter off the ground, Arc energy raging across her body in furious bursts as her partner crawls on all fours to give her a high five. 

That gives Osiris an idea. 

The rest of the round is an absolute shit show with Osiris and Saint dying just moments after they score a kill. The Hunter, grateful for his partner's save, acts cautiously and takes them by surprise every time. With only ten seconds left, they're tied; Saint lies dead under a pile of crates and Osiris finds himself backed into a corner. The stench of ozone alerts him that the Hunter is about to pull an Arc staff out of thin air and bash his skull in, which he is welcome to try, because it'll be his last move in this match.

Osiris feints to the left like he means to dodge the Hunter's attack, and then steps backward off the cat walk.

"No!" The Titan curses loudly at their lost opportunity for a point. She flinches when she hears heavy footsteps, and turns just in time for Saint to body slam into the couple with his shield. They shriek all the way down to hell with Osiris whose dying laughter is still echoing by the time Shaxx ends the match. 

Not bad for their first game.

  


* * *

  


Osiris and Saint win five matches in a row and decide to end on an excellent note. Saint observes that the majority of the Guardians they faced seemed to be greenhorns, newcomers to Crimson Doubles or to the Crucible in general, and that may have contributed to their overwhelming success. Osiris cracks open an eye, nonplussed. He's lying on his side on a cot behind Saint, exhausted but pleased. "You have to start somewhere," he points out.

"True," Saint agrees, checking his ship's vitals. "I just couldn't help but notice how happy you seemed about it all. Didn't you say these were your first Doubles? I couldn't tell."

"Yes." Osiris pretends to dust invisible lint from his sleeve. "Not yours, I take it?"

"No, Tallulah and I were partners for years. This year she's competing with her girlfriend. I was content to watch my Titans enjoy themselves in my stead until you asked -- forgive me, demanded that I come with you." He glances behind himself at Osiris with bright, digital eyes that belie a sense of humor. "What provoked this desire to go into the Crucible after so long?"

"Ah... Curiosity, mostly. I thought it'd be an excellent learning experience." Osiris rolls over to signify that the conversation is over, and Saint drops it. He listens to his soft humming as Saint flies them back to the Tower.

  


* * *

  


It can't be all fun and kills, though -- they are the Vanguard, and work has to be done on the third day of the festivities. Osiris is absolutely annoyed with how much paperwork can pile up when you take a few hours off in a single day. He decided to forgo the sleeping pills the night before, thinking that his brain might give him a rest, and paid for his hubris with horrifying dreams of Guardians burning alive as red ships roar through the air. Fuck staying in bed, he's going to work six hours early. 

"Beating up ten Guardians isn't enough to prove decades of affection for someone," Sagira says lightly.

Osiris stuffs a piece of toast into his mouth. Sagira waits patiently for him to finish chewing, sighing loudly when he reaches over to take a sip of tea and prolong her impatience. "What makes you think I'm doing this for Saint, Sagira? Perhaps I wanted to test my colleagues." 

"I'm not playing along because I live inside your head. I know you better than _you_ know you." Sagira yawns. "It was _so_ cute when you healed him from that grenade and told him he was doing great. Remember?"

"I remember," Osiris grumbles. It was their fourth match. Saint was near death from several body shots and a Void grenade that stuck to him when he dove behind cover. Osiris crouched by his side and laid a hand on his shoulder as soothing Solar Light flooded Saint's body and restored him to health. "I'd do that for any Guardian." 

"No wonder the Speaker doesn't like you hanging out with his boy." Sagira titters as she floats out of the office, presumably to meet Joan for gossip. "He's nothing special to you."

"That's not true," Osiris protests to an empty room. He knows that Sagira means well, and it's her way of getting him to admit his -- fraternizing thoughts about Saint. Which he has no desire to do, of course. Complicating workplace relationships is detrimental to everyone involved. He's fine. They're fine.

Right?

_"Osiris, why didn't you --"_

He squeezes his eyes shut, counts to three, and radios Saint. "What are your plans for tomorrow evening? Cancel them. Meet me in the Crucible."

  


* * *

  


"I can't remember the last time I heard you laughing so hard," Saint chuckles, after a particularly disastrous round for the enemy team. They called for a break, and sit together in Osiris's ship this time, orbiting the earth. "For a moment, you reminded me of Shaxx."

"Shaxx wishes he were me," Osiris replies smoothly. Where do Guardians think he got the support to begin the Crucible in the first place? "I was delighted by that Warlock who challenged you to a melee and won," he explains. "I believe they're a student of Dr. Esfahani's, so it doesn't surprise me."

"Yeah, she dented my pauldron." Saint rubs his arm. He's quiet for a moment, then... "Hey... are you feeling alright?" 

Osiris's hand freezes as he brings a canteen to his lips. "What do you mean?" he demands, then clears his throat. "I'm perfectly fine." 

"Your eyes," replies Saint, watching his face. "They're red. Have you been sleeping lately?"

"I'm busy, Saint. I work late into the night." 

Orbital plates knit in concern. Dissatisfied, Saint asks, "Sure you're up for a few more matches today?"

_Of all the times to be observant._ Osiris tilts his head, widening his eyes in mock surprise. "What -- are you getting tired?" he teases.

Saint processes a scoff and secures his helmet. "Hah! Not a chance, Commander."

  


* * *

  


The Traveler's Light isn't perfect. It has one fundamental flaw that is rarely spoken of, especially from old Guardians like Saladin. And it's the fact that a Ghost cannot fix psychological trauma.

When a Guardian dies and is brought back, their body forgets the pain of a Fallen spearhead through their chest. What they don't forget, though, is the agony of bleeding out, or the sound of a civilian screaming for mercy. They carry that with them for the rest of their unnatural life. Exos are lucky -- eventually, they'll forget.

When Sagira heals Osiris's bullet wounds, he doesn't die from blood loss or punctured organs. Instead, he dies from literal, heart-wrenching agony at seeing Saint's body crumple to the ground, cold and still. He knows Saint will come back in a matter of seconds, and that he won't be hurt upon revival. Yet Osiris cannot shake the foreboding feeling that one day, Saint won't get back up.

Strange as it sounds, Osiris is thankful most days that the Light cannot erase emotional suffering. Fear is necessary to keep one sharp and on their toes. 

He doesn't feel that way today. He's curled up on the shower floor with his head on his knees and arms wrapped tightly around him, shivering despite the hot water scalding his skin. From outside the bathroom Sagira yells, "Are you drowning?"

Osiris will admit that he can be vain about his appearance, particularly his body. But it's not vanity that has him trembling and unwilling to move. It's bone-deep terror. He had another dream, of Saint running ahead of him through fields of golden grass and darting through odd-looking trees with magnificent magenta foliage. Osiris calls out to him that he's going the wrong way, that they will capture him. Saint is too far ahead to heed his warnings. The Vanguard comms crackle with static and eventually, they fall silent. 

Until mere hours ago that was as far as Osiris would get into the dream before he woke in a cold sweat, shaking his head to free his mind of worrisome thoughts. But at last he saw the dream through. Saint stands alone upon a mountain of twisted bodies, the arms reaching up as if to pull him down, down into their embrace, and he cries out to Osiris, "Why didn't you come back for me? Why did you leave me behind?"

Before Osiris has the chance to reply, there is an explosion of Light. Blinded, he falls to his knees and calls, "I had to! You gave me no choice!"

A terrible cacophony of howls join together to split his eardrums and seize his heart. The Light fades, and Saint is --

"Hey dumbass, I want my Guardian back, not a lobster." Sagira appears before him in the shower and jolts a little from a jet of hot water spraying her shell. "Okay, wow! That was a joke! I didn't know you were _literally boiling yourself alive_."

"He's going to die," Osiris croaks. "He's going to die and I'm going to let him die."

"What? Osiris --"

"I can't do this, Sagira. This is why I don't talk to him unless it's business. If I stay the course, he'll --"

"Who?" she demands, framing his stricken face with her pointed wings. Her iris darts around, looking him over and shrinking in fear at what she sees. "Who are you talking about?"

"Saint needs to forget about me," Osiris interrupts, nodding. Sagira bobbles along with him. "The Speaker was right."

"That's it. Shower, off." The utilities VI obediently stops, leaving Osiris drenched and cold on the bottom of the tub. Sagira hurriedly flies out through the curtain and curses sub-vocally as she wrangles a towel over her body to half-drag, half lift it over. The weight of it is a bit much for her tiny body -- she has to furiously beat her wings just to stay in the air. "I never want to hear you say those words again. That's not my Osiris. My Osiris is a rude piece of shit who thinks he's smarter than everyone and would fight the sun if it challenged him to a duel. He doesn't back down, and he doesn't let people tell him what's what. You hear me?"

Osiris nods dumbly as she flings the towel over his head with a huff of exertion. "Look at me," she orders. He pulls the towel off his face so he can look at her. "You are going to get dressed, and you are going to make some tea, and you are going to take your meds and go back to sleep."

"But --"

"Do not interrupt me." He closes his mouth. "Who's gonna lead us if you burn yourself out over a bunch of dreams, huh? You gonna let some stupid nightmares wear you down, Osiris?"

"They're real," he chokes. Sagira blinks, confused. "I saw the Hive on the Moon. I saw our Guardians fall in droves. Months before we launched that attack. I thought it was just nerves, a nightmare like you said. I told no one. I --"

"Shh. Let's pretend, for just a moment, that you can somehow see the future." Sagira still won't take it seriously. Perhaps like Osiris, she's afraid. "You didn't cause that to happen. The Consensus wouldn't listen to Shaxx when he --" 

"Maybe I could have done something," says Osiris, hoarse from the effort of swallowing a frustrated yell. He yanks the towel back over his head miserably. "But I'll never know."

He takes several deep breaths, trying to calm his pounding heart and not have a third anxiety attack in two days. He's fine. He's safe. Saint's safe. No one is attacking the Tower. There aren't little unmarked graves outside the walls full of Ghosts. 

Something small and round brushes against his covered face and he lifts the towel to look at Sagira, who lightly pecks his cheek. He isn't sure if his face is damp from water or tears. She uses the tip of a wing to brush a wet lock of hair behind his ear. "You okay?" she asks, gently. Far more gently than he deserves.

"I'm fine," he mutters. 

She nests atop his head and hums, the vibrations distracting Osiris from the pounding in his ears. His head is one of her favorite perches. Osiris can't explain why, but it's soothing to him. "You know," Sagira begins, sliding down his forehead until Osiris is cross-eyed trying to see her, "it really sucks that I don't have hands. I'd do so much with hands. I'd wash your hair, throw things at you, hug you --"

"One of those things is not like the others." 

"Yet all three are equal and valid."

Osiris snorts and plucks her off his head, gazing fondly at his little light. He rubs away the steam clouding her lens. "You wanna get out of here and talk about it?" she asks him, patting his hand. He nods, and Sagira hovers out of his grasp, bumps his forehead in another kiss, and darts out through the curtain. Osiris runs a hand through his hair, takes a deep breath, and braces himself against the edge of the tub to stand up. 

  


* * *

  


"Osiris," Saint says loudly, and Osiris's arm shoots outward and reaches for a gun that isn't there. All he manages to do is punch some heavy objects off his desk and causing a ruckus. He lifts his head from the warm wooden surface where a piece of paper is stuck to his cheek and he stares daggers at Saint, who is giving him this glare that he doesn't appreciate. "Yes?" he replies, short.

Saint just looks at him, head tilted at a dangerous angle. He steps to the side and presents a young Warlock hovering just behind, clutching a tome in her hands nervously. "This Guardian has been sitting outside of your office for over an hour. She says you agreed to meet with her about an assignment."

Shit. He'd completely forgotten. "Forgive me, Anh," Osiris sighs. "Have a seat. Did you want something to drink?"

"No, thank you, Professor. -- Commander?" 

"Professor is fine. Pardon us for just a moment." Osiris motions for Saint to follow him outside. When they've wandered a good fifteen feet down the hall he rounds on the other man and hisses, "You are _not_ to use my name in front of others outside our immediate circle."

"What was that?" Saint whispers harshly. "Since when is _that_ a rule?"

"Since you heard those words leave my mouth," Osiris growls. He feels a migraine coming on, and he doesn't know if it's from a lack of caffeine or the overindulgence of caffeine. He should really look into green teas. "Don't you ever speak to me like that in front of my students again. Do you understand me, Saint?"

"Yes, Commander," says Saint, voice purely mechanical and devoid of life. He spins on his heel and stomps down the hallway toward the elevator.

  


* * *

  


It's probably revenge for his past sins. That can only explain why the third day of Crimson Doubles for Saint and Osiris is so bad. They make little errors that shame them terribly, and in one match Osiris dies seven times in a row without securing a single point. In round three, when they still had twenty seconds on the clock, Saint stands in front of Osiris when he revives and refuses to let him walk past. "What --?"

"We're done," Saint replies curtly. The Warlock duo race over, guns raised, ready to cut them down like they've done before dozens of times. Osiris flinches in surprise when Saint's Ward of Dawn encases them both, and their opponents bounce off the shield like rubber balls. The intensity of his Light is too much for them -- they have to shield their eyes and back away. Shaxx declares the match over, 0-3.

Osiris and Sagira share a bewildered look as the four of them -- a fuming Saint, a quiet Joan, and Osiris and Sagira who are apparently in trouble -- board Saint's ship. Joan says _ahem_ and shifts into autopilot as they break out of Venus's orbit.

Saint tosses his helmet into a locker and leaves his weapons on the floor by a bench in the cabin. He busies himself removing the top half of his armor, sitting heavily down on the bench and sighing. Osiris clears his throat quietly. "S --"

"What the hell were you doing?" Saint snaps, throwing both his hands up. Joan conspicuously melds back into his body. Sagira mirrors her. 

"What -- _you_ were doing just as poorly as I was!" Osiris returns, taken aback by the sudden aggression from his partner. "What was that throw you did? The shield almost came back and cracked my skull." 

"Perhaps if you were out cold for the rest of the match, I might have gotten work done. Instead I had to focus my efforts on keeping you alive! Never have I --"

Outraged, Osiris shouts, "Excuse me? Keeping _me_ alive? Is that what you were doing when you chased off after both of those Titans, and got yourself spectacularly killed?"

"Well," Saint snarls, standing up, "at least I killed _something_."

Osiris sucks in a deep breath. "You --"

"I know I mean very little to you, but your every death brought me never-ending torment! You stopped caring halfway before the first match was over and threw me to the wolves! What's the matter with you, Osiris?" His modulator has a hiccup, and his voice cracks. "Why did you leave me behind?"

_No no_ , Sagira says hurriedly as a wave of nausea stabs Osiris in the stomach. _Listen, he's gonna regret saying that soon. You're both stressed. Calm down, sit, we're almost home._

Saint drops to the bench and holds his head in his hands. "It's not just this week," he whispers. His words would carry in a mausoleum. "Lately you keep me at arm's length in every regard. I don't know if you're playing with me at this point, or..."

He peeks over his fingers to the floor, irises flickering from a rush of conflicting emotions. 

Osiris swallows. He's right. The entire week he's given Saint mixed signals, claiming to enjoy his company for a few hours before cold-shouldering him as soon as they return to the Tower. 

But that's all he knows to do in his damn situation. Every road, every river in his dreams that leads to Saint's demise all point back to one source: Him. He isn't strong enough to cut Saint out completely just yet, but with a little time, it's possible. 

Another mechanical hiccup knocks him out of his self-pity, and he watches Saint tremble in his seat.

Fuck it.

He strides over and stops directly in front of Saint, close enough that his cranium brushes against Osiris's chest. Saint attempts to look up in time for Osiris to pull him forward just a bit in an embrace that stiffens his spine. Saint has to slide forward until he's halfway off the bench, leaning into Osiris's arms with his face buried against his sternum. "I don't know what I'm doing, even now," Osiris confesses. "If I told you what's troubled me for so many years, you'd call me a heretic and cast me out. If not you, then the Speaker."

Saint slowly tilts back his head until he's staring straight into Osiris's eyes, plates knitting together in a look of puzzlement. "I can't tell you what it is yet," Osiris admits. "I need to... I need to think on it, first. To see what can be done to stop it or use it to our benefit. I'm... I'm sorry. I haven't been at my best, and I know this."

Digital irises dull and flicker off for a few seconds. When Saint speaks again, the anger is gone from his voice. All that's left is exhaustion. "Your best is not that far off from your worst," he remarks, resting his cheek against Osiris. "But at least you acknowledged my existence then."

Osiris smiles humorously. He rubs Saint's back, hoping that it's comforting, but he's never quite understood how sensitive Exos are to touch. It seems to vary on what model they were based off of. "Your existence has plagued my every thought since I met you, Saint," he replies.

Saint makes a noise that's somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "My apologies." 

"No..." Osiris cups Saint's face and gently directs him so they resume eye contact. "I enjoy it." 

Exo bodies are always cold; it’s out of necessity to keep their internal processors from overheating. But when he holds Saint in his hands, Osiris feels only warmth blooming across his metal cheeks from the heat of his own touch. Even Saint’s mouth is hot and welcoming when he presses a clumsy kiss to it.

His mouth is nothing like an organic person's -- there are no lips to lick at, no tongue to tangle with, no teeth to entice. But whoever designed Exos had, for some bizarre reason, decided they should still be able to kiss someone back with mixed results. Tiny plates shift in response to Osiris's kiss and Saint more or less returns a soft peck. Just a little touch of metal that has the hair on Osiris's arms stand on end and encourages him to keep going. 

The light in Saint's throat clicks off without a sound, and his eyes follow. He brings his arms up from Osiris's waist to lightly press against his back, leading Osiris closer until there is no space between them. His fingers are restless -- they pick at his robes, or draw incomprehensible symbols into the small of his back. Osiris fidgets uncertainly in his arms, unused to being touched so intimately, or at all. With jaws that can tear the hood off a Sparrow, Saint gently bites his lips, and if there's one major complaint Osiris could formulate at this time it's that he cannot return the favor. It'd be like chewing on a crowbar. 

Saint doesn't need air, but Osiris has pesky organs that do. It takes him a bit of effort to disentangle himself. When he's successful, he clears his throat and says, "I must be honest with you: My intentions were for us to use the Crucible as a way to... eh..."

_Date_ , Sagira suggests. 

"Date," Osiris mumbles. There is a wildfire scorching him from the inside, and it's nothing to do with his Solar Light.

Saint's jaw drops, which is -- fair. His irises begin to flash, then dart around his sockets as he takes in the scene, like he's only just noticed they're on a ship. "Excuse me," he replies, like he wants to make absolutely sure he heard correctly. Osiris braces himself. "Do you mean to say that... your first idea to woo me... was to defeat pair-bonded Guardians in gladiatorial combat, and prove your affection for me was stronger?"

When Osiris was twenty years past his resurrection, he made the grave mistake of writing in his thesis that the earth's gravitational pull on the Traveler was X m/s², when in fact he had misread his own handwriting and did not realize it was Y m/s². He then presented his research to his professor, who covered his mouth and quietly corrected him in front of the most brilliant minds at the time, Lord Felwinter included. The embarrassment he feels now is just as much as the overwhelming amount he felt then, perhaps greater. "That was not my _first_ idea," Osiris mutters. "Just the one I wanted to pursue."

Saint brings Osiris’s hand to his mouth and brushes a cool kiss against his knuckles, sending a series of shocks rippling through his skin. “Osiris,” he continues while his partner stands there like an absolute buffoon, “I would have been content with a single kiss or a touch from you. Even just a moment of your time. You didn’t have to fight dozens of Guardians to defend my honor.” Amused, he adds, “Particularly when it seems only _your_ honor was on the line.”

Wow. 

“A kiss, a touch, or a moment of my time -- those aren’t enough. Not for you, nor me, either.” Osiris is finding it difficult to meet Saint’s soft gaze. “I apologize if my actions were excessive.”

“Oh, I rather enjoyed myself.” One of Saint's irises winks out. “Especially when you held me and swore revenge on that poor Warlock who was risen only three months.”

“You were dead! How did --”

“Joan recorded it.”

Saint’s Ghost has always disliked Osiris, though now he’s confused as to whether she was helping him or trying to humiliate him. Both, perhaps. She’s a resourceful little drone. "So..." Osiris trails off. He won't deny that he's still worried about his freakish ability to foresee tragedies, but for now, he's got to focus on the one thing that can be addressed with ease: His relationship with Saint. Truthfully, he doesn't know what happens next. Well, that's not -- entirely true. He has one idea, but that depends entirely on how flexible Saint is and how sturdy Osiris's bed is.

Saint, wonderful, near-perfect Saint, grins and says, "Can we have one more match tomorrow before the holiday's over?" 

  


* * *

  


"I recognize the Hunter on the left," Saint murmurs, nudging Osiris with his elbow. "Cayde. One of Tallulah's agents."

"Mm." The Crucible prohibits the access of background information on opponents. All that is revealed is their class, and their name. Cayde-6 doesn't ring any bells to Osiris, and neither does Andal Brask. They could be the most powerful Guardians in the world and it still wouldn't matter to him -- everyone dies. "Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yes." Saint's fingers twitch on the stock of his shotgun. "I'm counting on you, Osiris."

_Me, too_ , says Sagira. _Let's make them cry._

What follows is the longest game of cat-and-mouse but with guns, grenades, and throwing knives. Every time the Hunters score a kill, they're repaid in full. And whenever one of the Vanguards takes one out, his partner avenges him a split second later. The first three rounds are almost tied, with points gained in the last millisecond: 6-7, 13-12, 10-11. While tucked behind a broken pillar Osiris amends his initial opinion of:the younger Guardian, Brask: He isn't cautious from a lack of experience. It's his strength. They made two fatal mistakes on the assumption that Brask would back off if he was rushed, and every time it was one of _them_ who lay dead on the ground with a smoking bullet in his head, and Cayde snickering from the darkness.

Static crackles on their comms as the match link is activated. "Come on out, coward!" yells Brask, which just -- Osiris has to cover his mouth so he doesn't laugh and give away their position. "Hiding in the corner with your shotgun is cheap!"

Saint tilts his helmet at Osiris. He doesn't need to see Saint's face to know exactly what expression he's got on. But, just to clarify, Saint uses his index and middle fingers to draw a curving smile where his mouth is: a common fireteam signal that means _I'm happy to see you_ or _this idiot is mine_. Osiris silently replies with _Understood_.

Two minutes later Brask gets a face full of shotgun and goes down like a ton of tacky bricks. Saint immediately pivots to avoid his partner's shot, but to his dismay Cayde lobs a swarm grenade. Saint's armor takes the brunt of the subsequent explosion but Osiris hears the tell-tale shattering of his shields.

He races forward, Rift at the ready, diving at Saint to pull him down so the second shot misses. But Cayde is faster, and --

Oh, damnit. 

Osiris dies to a golden bullet. 

He's revived seconds later, and Saint staggers to his feet behind him almost instantly. So, that confirms his suspicions: "Cayde sent Brask to die and bring us to the same place," he remarks, and Saint _snarls_ in reply, which -- intrigues him. A lot.

Round four goes to the Hunter duo. Brask shakes his helmet off and waves cheerfully, while Cayde winks at Saint. "You're pretty handy with that barricade," he calls. "Too bad Titans think we won't jump over it, huh?"

"I'm killing him," Saint tells Osiris quietly. 

"Of course you are," says Osiris, fond. He pats Saint's thick bicep and makes a mental note to test how firm it is later. "That's the point."

  


* * *

  


They've only experienced the Sudden Death round twice, and each time they won, though Osiris is careful not to underestimate the Hunter couple again. One Gunslinger is annoying, but two...

_"I'm going to do something different for you four. Don't bother capturing a point,"_ Shaxx murmurs into their comms. _"Just kill each other."_

The first forty-five seconds of the match is a standstill. Both pairs refuse to peek around cover and see who's there. Shaxx, bored, complains that the bloodthirsty audience is unimpressed and demands compensation. Osiris debates on telling Shaxx where he can stick that compensation when Saint grabs him by the collar and throws him to the floor several meters away to avoid a rocket.

_"That's what I'm talking about!"_ Shaxx yells happily. Osiris coughs and rolls to his feet.

They resume their eye for an eye tactic, killing only to be killed seconds later, and Osiris is doubtful they're going out on top. Somehow Brask always knows where he is, and Cayde dances just out of their reach every time. 

Osiris dies to another golden bullet, but his death gives Saint enough speed to outrun the next five. Through the match link, Cayde chuckles darkly. "Too bad you couldn't do that earlier, sir."

"It's just a game to him," says Saint in disbelief, crouching behind a barricade. Even through his helmet he sounds angry. 

"Saint, I regret to inform you that he's right. These matches are games." Osiris shakes his head. He reloads his scout and happens to glance at Saint who slowly taps the side of his galea, allowing the helmet to create a small two-way visor showing only his eyes.

The look he gives Osiris is so withering it would destroy a forest with the heat of its fury. 

_This is a game to Saint the way war is a game to the Cabal_ , Sagira muses. 

  


* * *

  


_I don't think Saint is trying to win any more. I think he just wants to kill Cayde._

"The disrespect!" Saint explodes from meters away. He punches Brask in the stomach and the Hunter staggers backward, dazed. "I'll show you!"

_Luckily his posturing is an excellent distraction_ , Osiris returns. He and Saint have ceased to communicate verbally, but they're still perfectly synced. As he rounds a corner to quickly drop a Rift and heal, he says, _Wait, where's --_

A knife flung from behind lodges itself millimeters away from his face into the wall. Cayde steps out of the shadows. He seems to have forgone his helmet, thinking that he doesn't need it for this round, and the effect it has on his eyes is chilling. His hooded orbital plates cast his sharp blue eyes in total darkness as they zero in on Osiris. As Osiris readies himself to drop to the floor, Cayde smiles; he can tell because his eyes become half-moons. Bright little beacons of malice.

Cayde leaps backwards as a spectral bow manifests in his hands, and he loosens a Void arrow in the center of the room. 

_No!_ Sagira fumes. _I didn't notice he'd switched! Hold on._ As Osiris struggles to move his limbs, Sagira takes over. His trembling hand summon a Rift below his feet. Light attempts to hold him together at the same time that Cayde's shadowshot rips his atoms apart, and Cayde stands at the top of the broken staircase, watching. 

Osiris's vision fades in time for him to see an enraged mountain crowned in Void energy sprint into Cayde, smacking him with a shield that sends his body flying over a toppled statue. When the trap fades Osiris immediately dives for cover as Brask shoots the air where seconds before his head was. Saint joins him and returns fire, missing Brask but hitting Cayde square in the chest. The Hunter grunts, but remains on his feet. Cayde flings an arm out to stop Brask from advancing just as Osiris's shot rings true, striking Cayde in the forehead below his horn.

Cayde is dead before he hits the floor.

Osiris doesn't even know what the score is -- Shaxx is just background noise. Brask's helmet is turned toward his partner's corpse, but Osiris knows he isn't looking at Cayde. He's staring right at him. 

Saint doesn't hesitate. He springs forward as Brask is engulfed in flames, and they fire simultaneously. Saint's bullet hits, but so does Brask's, and Osiris dies.

He has no clue where Sagira revives him this time, and curses when he notices two arrows on his HUD indicating that both Cayde and Brask have Saint surrounded. Saint's marker flutters erratically as Osiris runs to his position, heart pounding. He just needs a little more time. Just a little more --

He's too late. Because before he can make it halfway to Saint's location, his pulse at the bottom of Osiris's HUD flatlines and Shaxx confirms the kill. 

Osiris comes to a halt outside of the room where Hunters lurk, expression blank. His gun is a heavy weight in his arms.

"Did you hear something?" Cayde hisses, peeking his stupid head out from cover, and his irises constrict a moment before he's bathed in Solar Light and literally burns to the ground. Brask tries to retreat further into the room, flinching when Osiris levitates inside and blocks the doorway. He brings his knife to his own throat to deny Osiris the point, but Osiris roars and dives at him, spectral sword slicing his belly and searing through his leathers, cutting him down.

Just as Osiris's Solar wings flicker and vanish from sight and his feet touch the ground once more, Cayde revives. He's closer to him than Saint is, and Osiris really wants to have a word with Shaxx when they're back in the Tower about respawn locations. He sprints outside, shooting Cayde over Saint's shoulder and missing. Cayde slides and knocks into Saint's legs, throwing him off balance and giving Brask the opening he needs -- 

Saint kicks Cayde off him in a tangle of metal limbs and instead grabs Brask's ankle when he tries to jog past him. Startled, Brask attempts to crush Saint's arm with his boot at the same time he lobs a grenade at Osiris. He misses and Cayde, back on his feet, throws his knife. It hits Osiris in the side and he gasps, going down on one knee. His next shot is off and Cayde closes the gap between them. 

Brask suddenly sails through the air and slams into a trash can, which is to say, he slams into Cayde and ruins his partner's chance at finishing Osiris off. Saint glows with intense Void Light and fury, and throws his shield, his trajectory off, clearly missing the Hunters and having it rebound along a wall. Cayde watches it in amusement that quickly melts into horror when Osiris catches it and hurls it at Brask, who is still trying to remember which way is up. Brask's life snuffs out before them. 

Osiris grits his teeth in agony and prepares to punch it out when Saint, still swathed in shimmering purple, plucks Cayde off the floor by his hood like a kitten by the scruff of its neck. He turns the Hunter around and headbutts him, earning a _CRACK_ that probably hurts like fuck. Judging by the way Cayde goes limp, it did.

Shaxx laughs. _"Final round over! 16-14, Vanguard!"_

What -- oh. Osiris shares a bewildered but excited look with Saint. They won! Damn, that was... that was fun.

_It was!_ Sagira giggles. _C'mon, let's go._

"Andal," wheezes Cayde on the ground. His partner kneels and squeezes his hand, hood bent near his face. Osiris isn't sure, but he thinks he hears a grin in Brask's voice. "What is it, Cayde?"

As Saint leads leads them back to the hangar with his hand firmly clutching Osiris's, they hear a static-laden chuckle. "Saint-14, he fuckin' -- he beat the shit out of me. Did you see when he cracked me like a walnut? Holy shit. Holy shit! That was hot."

"It was," Brask agrees with a little smirk. He helps Cayde sit up, shaking his hood back to peer at the split running between Cayde's eyes. "Nothing gets me going like you getting your ass handed to you, sweetheart."

  


* * *

  


A Redjack intercepts Saint and Osiris, stating that the audience watching at home want to see them posing together. Osiris rolls his eyes. "Must we?"

"Yes," Saint replies. "We'd be delighted." He slides an arm around Osiris's shoulders and murmurs, "It's important that the Tower see their legendary Guardian at ease and enjoying himself like everyone else."

"I would say they need to be reminded of the opposite, but --" Osiris shakes his head. A single recording won't hurt, he supposes. He'll outlive the civilians who see it anyway. 

Osiris is deceived the moment the camera appears in the Redjack's thin hands. Saint dips Osiris and kisses him, one powerful arm around his waist, the other supporting his shoulders with a hand cradling his head as the two of them are broadcasted to the entire City. Osiris is distantly aware of a roaring in his ears and a burning in his cheeks. A small part of him that _hasn't_ disintegrated from embarrassment remembers that the Speaker is also watching, and he grins against Saint's mouth.

Shaxx's triumphant, booming voice reverberates through the speakers as he addresses the audience. " _Two Guardians, united in mind, body and soul! I love it._ "

**Author's Note:**

> -title is from my favorite poem by rumi: _“I want a trouble-maker for a lover, blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, who burns like fire on the rushing sea.”_ i grew up on his works and one day i was like, haha, this reminds me of osiris -- _and it all went downhill from there_.
> 
> -i became interested in shaxx's thoughts on osiris early in the DLC when i forged [the conqueror 2](http://www.ishtar-collective.net/entries/the-conqueror-2) and heard osiris do that little chuckle to ghost, saying that shaxx sounds like _him_ , not the other way around. i'm now of the belief they had a casual fling at some point ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> -the "smile" signal that saint uses is from bungie's _halo_ novels. i've always loved that spartans use it to greet each other behind their one-way visors. v cute.


End file.
